


Do Not Weep

by Drabbleshy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: About the Story, Hogwarts Sixth Year, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It Gets Worse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Malfoy Manor, Original Character(s), Other, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sorry If I Forget Something, Sorry Not Sorry, Statutory Rape, Underage Rape/Non-con, but it gets better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drabbleshy/pseuds/Drabbleshy
Summary: Draco Malfoy, the sixteen-year-old major melodramatic Malfoy, goes through a period of his life that makes Hell seem like a vacation. Rape, depression, threats, black magic and mysterious forces. His mother, Narcissa, is doing the best that she can, quickly realising that this War is not within her interests. She begins plotting her way to killing off those who have harmed her child or merely stood by when at his most pressing hour. It will cost her more than she can afford, but that's a sacrifice she's prepared to take -- if it saves her child. Watch the pure-blood families of the wizarding world fight to survive!





	Do Not Weep

**Author's Note:**

> Please be careful when reading this. Certain people can be triggered by the following content and I have tried to keep parts of it short and somewhat unclear, but there shall be more details as we move on. I will also add more tags as the story continues because I wish to avoid SPOILERS (tm).

“Don’t weep, my little dragon. No tearssss.”

The muffled moans, words and sounds wormed their way through the walls and deep into her ears, her heart breaking into pieces with every syllable spoken. She couldn’t let her child live through this, not again. Night after night, her poor baby, her little Draco experienced pain, time and time again, thanks to the damned Dark Lord and she could do nothing but wait and hope. Hope that Harry Potter will emerge as the winner in this god-awful war, despite the nagging sound of her husband echoing ever in her mind. Her soul crumbled under the thought of being stuck in this hell for the rest of all of their lives and she wept in unison with her son once more, covering her mouth and choking back screams, curses and cries. She leaned against the cold stone wall in the dark room, her eyes peering at the perfectly made bed for no more than a second. Lucius changed rooms nearly three nights ago, that sick bastard. She felt her hate sink ever-deeper, for her Lord and for her husband as well. If only she was strong enough to help her baby boy now. If only she could be as strong as... Lily.

  
She remembered Lily Potter, her ways, at this time of unrest and her mind wandered again now, her sadness and anger for her son not subdued but only added to her hate of self that she had been carrying for years. Decades. She was a terrible person. She should just drop and die.  
“We all deserve to die,” she heard the all-too-familiar male voice come somewhere from behind her. She nodded, not bothering to look back. She knew who he was. She knew what he wanted and she damn right knew what she had to do. Dying is easy - living is harder.  
"What would you give to save your child, Narcissa?”

  
“Tears, blood and sweat,” she rejoined quickly and quietly, her cracked lips tightening as anger roared inside her once more.

  
“Omnes enim merentur,” he repeated. And the world went dark.

*******

“Little dragon, calm yourself. No need to get up-set.” The word slipped between his lips as if the very weight of the spoken word was heavy, meaningful. It broke apart oh-so-easily, slipping into Draco’s ears, tensing him up, and making him shiver with tears. They mixed with blood and sweat. He, or “it”, as Draco had decided to call the Dark Lord during the current evening, in a midst of anger, pain and darkness itself.

  
Its hands explored his body now, making Draco shudder in all the bad ways. Fear trembled through his bones, goose bumps decorated his pale skin and tears washed his face, desperately trying but never even close to being able to wash the sins away of the nights to be. It shushed him, pinning him to the desk, onto his stomach. It tried to calm him, as Draco answered with pathetic resistance; “Shh, we’re just having fun. Right, young one?” it inquired, before laughing, creepy off-colour fingers pressing against Draco’s arse. “Besssidess, you should be happy to be... helping me with this tasssssk, dragon,” its words rang through the room, oozing with confidence and narcissism. “Your father would be sssso proud,” the words were spoken and they broke the poor boy’s heart.

By the end of the night, Draco had no fight left in him, just scars on his skin and cuts that travel deep within his soul, emptying it of colours. He walked the corridors of the Malfoy Manor wordlessly after the first night, his robes torn and dirtied with sweat, blood and semen. He met none as he walked to one of the numerous bathrooms inside the giant house and slipped into the shower without a thought, after leaning down to puke into a basket automatically. He sat under the hot water, it turning red at contact with his bloody skin, his robes sagging with the weight of it. Dawn came and went before Draco was even able to process the events of the previous night. The shock woke him from what seemed like an eternal and unreal sleep and he flinched at the sudden realisation that the water had turned ice cold long ago.

  
Even Draco’s eyes, grey naturally, had become duller, losing the confident spark that once decorated everybody’s life. Over time, he would gain bags under his eyes, scars on most unusual places and a general fear of knives and the manor’s big chairs. He would be forced to fight a fight and win the war, or lest he would lose his entire family. It was too late for himself, but he cared for his dear mother. And though his strange and awkward, sometimes even a strongly hateful, relationship with his father, he still cared for him. He didn’t like it, but it came naturally to him and made him feel a strong sense of guilt for even thinking of somehow telling his father off. His whole head was bursting with emotions and ideas daily, conflicts and strange ideals. His head ached.

It went on for days to come. Draco surrendered himself to the Lord’s wishes with no fight, nor hesitation soon enough. He felt pain and hate but he also felt... nothing. Not peace, nor pleasure, but nothing at all. At times, it would feel as though a vacuum of emotions would overtake him. He would come back into the world hours later, somewhere else, alone. He couldn’t speak to anybody of this; his father pretended as if nothing strange was going on at all and he hadn’t managed to catch more than a glimpse of his mother in days. Not true.

  
He saw her once since the first night, during a late-timed breakfast. Her eyes carried pain but she had turned away and left him alone in the dark hallway. Something seemed off about her face as if a new light had stolen itself into her eyes during the night. Pain, pleasure practically spilt from them, both at once, yet not opposites. Surrounded by moving pictures, portraits, he steadied himself and forced his eyes to hold back tears; they stung like needles, at the back of his grey eyes. The paintings knew the secrets of the house but they spoke not of them to the humans who were still truly alive. Their eyes, accompanied by hushed murmurs, followed Draco as the boy had approached his chambers, and they had not become any quieter at all, quite the opposite. They had only truly shut their mouths, Draco had found, when one of their own had been blasted off of the walls. Literally.

  
The silver-haired boy locked the doors behind him and threw his wand on the bedside table, not bothering to be gentle with it. He threw himself onto the king sized bed, holding a pillow to his chest tightly, trying to erase the pain pressing ever-stronger in his chest. The pain that attacked his lungs, and stomach, and mind, and eyes, and all it could reach and it didn’t seem to stop until it tore him apart. Even his hair hurt from everything that had happened and his guts swirled around the inside of his body as if they were trying to eject themselves from his body. He spent what felt like days crying, sniffling and snotting over his pillows before he passed out. As he drifted from consciousness to sleep and back once more, he heard a whisper, like none other he had heard before. The world went dark.


End file.
